


Grace of the Loa - Legba

by mneiai



Series: Grace of the Loa [2]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: (Except in that Tyrathan Khort and Vol'jin were clearly in Love), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Not Very Canon Compliant At All
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 09:52:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13521741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mneiai/pseuds/mneiai
Summary: Plans are set in motion for Vol'jin's return.





	Grace of the Loa - Legba

**Author's Note:**

> I'm looking for a beta for the next part of these, if anyone's interested!
> 
> Um, not good at OCs so pulled in one canon character and am just...kinda not naming the rest. 
> 
> So these can really be thought of as chapters but I'm more likely to actually finish them if I treat them as separate, so here's the second 'part' lol following directly after the first.

On the Echo Isles, surrounded by the Darkspears, Tyrathan’s sleep was peaceful. The dreams still came, but they weren’t the same as the vision had been--it was of him and Vol’jin together in this place, Vol’jin’s home. The Darkspears had easily shown Tyrathan to empty quarters--it wasn’t hard to realize they were Vol’jin’s, even after the months since his death, and perhaps many more since he’d actually been there, they were still marked with his presence.

He wondered, if he hadn’t stayed away, if he’d be just as familiar a presence in the rooms. If the dreams he had would have been reality.

One morning, as Tyrathan prepared to go out with the Darkspear hunters and catch food for the day, a shadow hunter came to collect him, instead. They went to a ceremonial area where numerous trolls had gathered and were still communing with the spirits, some through rituals, some through meditation, some through...less savory looking means.

“No one outside da tribe has evah seen these rituals,” he was told by the troll who brought him. “Well, not unless they be da sacrifice.” He laughed and Tyrathan gave a polite chuckle, realizing it was far too late to avoid learning Darkspear secrets. 

A light blue shadow hunter approached him around lunchtime, breaking up a group of witch doctors that had been quizzing Tyrathan on all the details of his vision. The new troll stood out from the others by a distinct lack of hair, making Tyrathan wonder if he’d shaved it off or if trolls could actually bald. 

The troll handed over one of the two bowls of stew he held, nodding towards a bench nearby where they could sit. “I be Denjai, one of Vol’jin’s Headhunters.” He shifted on his feet as he waited for Tyrathan to sit first, displaying the same excess energy that was so common among the trolls Tyrathan had met. “We be makin’ preparations for Vol’jin’s return, but we be needin’ certain...materials.”

Tyrathan frowned. “What sort of...materials?” He’d been at the funeral, he knew that Vol’jin’s body had been burned. 

“We be needin’ his mask, his ashes, his glaive.” 

“...I’m assuming it’s not as easy as going around the island for them?”

Denjai grimaced, shook his head. “Da glaive be here, but the others...we be needing to go retrieve dem….” He studied Tyrathan’s face. “Da ashes be with Thrall, da mask be in Grommash Hold.”

“WE? Can’t a few trolls obtain everything from there?” Tyrathan had avoided Ogrimmar even when Vol’jin was on its thrown, even during the periods the Alliance and Horde were working together. He was well aware that he’d make a nice target to many of the denizens, whose hatred for humans never had much time to abate. 

“We could be maybe gettin’ the mask, but da ashes...Thrall be looking for a reason we be needin’ them.” Denjai levelled Tyrathan with a look. “You be most capable of givin’ it.”

“Why’s that?”

That earned him a smirk. “Thrall be a romantic. Be goin’ all soft for your story.”

Tyrathan’s face went carefully neutral, to hide the helpless glare he wanted to give.

***

Ogrimmar with a troll envoy was very different than sneaking around Durotar himself. Staying to the center of the group of trolls, dressed in a cloak that covered his head and cast his face into shadow, no one spared him a second glance. 

When they were just outside the building they were apparently infiltrating, they stopped in the shadows and waited. As the Darkspears were part of the guard rotations, they had made sure their own people were guarding the building that night. It was a simple thing to slip inside, though Tyrathan was still confused why he was necessary for this part. 

When they reached the throne room, he had a moment of dizziness, for a second able to see Vol’jin, in full face paint and armor as he must have normally looked while here, sitting on the throne. He shook off the feeling, falling to the side of the entrance, prepared if any non-troll entered. 

He wondered if just seeing this place wasn't the reason Denjai insisted he come. The reality of Warchief Vol’jin, not just the troll he had known in Pandaria, was one Tyrathan would need to face. 

Vol’jin loved the Horde, it was his family. Even when many in his position would have simply left it, he stayed true, fighting to free it from a despot instead. He'd never leave it for Tyrathan, who knew he'd never be able to ask such a thing to begin with. 

The Alliance was what he'd been born into, but as a human, as a vassal for a noble family, it had been an inevitability. He hadn't chosen it, didn't feel such a deep connection to it. He'd been afraid that if his friendship with Vol’jin was found out, he'd be labeled a traitor, but now he wondered if there wouldn't be truth to that, as well. 

Obtaining the mask went off without a hitch, Tyrathan growing more nervous every moment nothing went wrong. 

 

As the Darkspears went off to arrange transport back to their ship, Tyrathan sought out Thrall. He’d been told that the orc checked in often enough, now, that he should be there, and wondered if it was out of unease with the new Warchief or not. After all, Sylvanas seemed to share far more in common with Garrosh than could be comfortable, and the notable vacancy of Ogrimmar by the Horde Warchief had to be something of a blow.

He kept his hood up regardless of where he went, but that wasn’t unusual. Covered in cloth and shadow, having entered with Darkspears, not many paid him mind. 

When he finally located Thrall, though, it was clear that he wasn’t fooled into thinking Tyrathan was of the Horde. 

“An odd way to send an assassin,” Thrall commented, watching Tyrathan for any sudden movements.

“It’s a good thing I have no desire to kill you.” Tyrathan’s left hand stayed at his side, holding a dark colored throwing knife against equally dark cloth, that he hoped would buy him enough time to go for a better weapon if Thrall attacked. 

“Then what do you want with me?”

Tyrathan inclined his head. “The Darkspears need Vol’jin’s ashes,” he finally replied.

“I have never known the Darkspears to send a human to make requests.”

“...I have a vested interest in what they’re doing.” He considered, then added, knowing Vol’jin held Thrall in high regard, “I don’t know if Vol’jin ever mentioned me. I’m Tyrathan Khort, we--”

“--fought together is Pandaria. Yes, I know of you. There were many nights when Vol’jin seemed distracted by his thoughts-- wonderings over how you were doing, whether you, too, might be missing him.” Thrall’s gaze had softened, at least, as he regarded Tyrathan.

He shrugged. “I figured his spies would have told him that.”

“Horde spies could tell him of your physical location and actions, they could not tell him of your emotional state beyond the obvious. You were not an easy being to get close to.”

Thrall stepped away, motioning for Tyrathan to follow. Cautiously, he did, watching for any interference. He only allowed himself to relax when he saw the urn. 

“I know the trolls, the Darkspears in particular, have a...certain relationship with death. I imagine that’s why you need these. If it’s true, it will not be unwelcome.”

Tyrathan reached out, gently taking the urn. He wouldn't feel safe with it until it was on the Echo Isles protected by shadow hunters and spells. 

“Darkspears never die,” Tyrathan murmured, with a lopsided smile. 

“If you are doing this, if you are planning on being there when he comes back...you must make your choice, finally, fully,” Thrall added as Tyrathan turned to leave. “He will be Warchief again, I have no doubt, and he cannot allow himself someone in his life who does not have any other connections to the Horde.”

Tyrathan took a deep breath, shoulders lifting and falling with it, then nodded. He almost wanted to laugh, to tell Thrall that the Drakspears were already making that known to him, in much subtler ways. “They say you never know what you have until you lost it. I'm just in a position where maybe I'll get it back.”


End file.
